


No Scars

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Sburb, Short, everyone gets dropped into their proper time/universe after the game au, kind of a ramble sorry, only slight stridercest at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You may as well feel like God when you are one, but you don't suppose your brother will notice the scars you surely bear from casting judgement."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Scars

You feel as if you've been decapitated (again).

There's a strange aching from a body you're no longer sure is attached and you can very nearly feel the blood slipping out of your skull. You wouldn't call the feeling dying, but you might describe it as incredibly surrealistic and numbing if you had the presence of mind to put words to sensations.

All at once you're surrounded by bones under scratchy fabric and you almost think there's malice in the gesture, but you abruptly notice fingers rubbing at your back and it reminds you of the first time Roxy hugged you, and it feels like family, so you relax. 

The blond mess of hair reminds you of yourself at first, to be honest. But when he leans back to look at you and you register pointier cheekbones, lighter freckles, and the same shades whose image you've memorized from the poster in your room you feel like Jesus returning to heaven after the ascension. 

You may as well feel like God when you are one, but you don't suppose your brother will notice the scars you surely bear from casting judgement.

Afterwards, you don't tell him where you've been and he doesn't ask. He probably doesn't need to know. 

You enjoy each other's company and you put on movies and talk over them, and you love that you haven't memorized the exact intonation of his responses. He touches you a lot, gives you brief pats on the arm as if he's not quite sure you're still there. You enjoy the contact because it doesn't remind you of home. 

You're surprised when you shower next and don't find white marks on your skin from where you're positive you recall being injured. You kind of miss them, but you suppose it's better than Dave catching sight of one and asking about it. You'd like to keep him in the dark as much as possible. 

You don't know why, but you feel the need to protect him from the knowledge of what you've been up to, even if you know it's nothing he could blame you for. 

You feel blame-worthy anyway.

The first time you wake up in a panic, you grab for your sword and crawl back against the wall when you can't find it. After your breathing calms down and you don't see water or green when you look out the window, you keep your sword within arm's reach most of the time. You don't sleep much that night, but you experience the first midnight soda break you remember that wasn't salty. 

The next time, you wonder if it's strange to ask to sleep with your older brother at your age. Probably, but after swinging at open air with your shades hanging tiredly off your nose, you're more concerned with whether or not it would be easier to sleep than with whether it would be weird. You keep your sword in your hand when you try reading one of the books Dave helped you check out from the library, but you have trouble focusing on the words. 

Dave is actually the one to bring the offer to the table, after he's made breakfast and you've apologized maybe thirty times for almost cutting his nose off. You figure maybe he wants to treat you like a child with night terrors, and you're inclined to allow it. 

You guess you might as well still be a child with how much you're being doted on. You chalk it up to the excitement.

You feel self-conscious when you sleep on your side in front of him. You think there might be psychological connotations and you want desperately to seem like you're well-adjusted and put together, even if just to yourself. You force yourself to lie on your back, even though it makes you feel like your heart is exposed. 

You manage to wake up after the sun this time. When you do, you're curled into his chest under the sheets and you just lay there. You almost sit up when you realize you don't have your sword, but you manage to convince yourself that bed sheets are a decent security alternative. 

Eventually, the nightmares are a lot less frequent and you start wondering why you're still sleeping in his bed. You don't think he cares, and you keep telling yourself that you don't either. 

After you start tinkering again, you have an excuse to stay up late and stay out of his room and it's a lot like the movies and shows where siblings are meant to be extremely territorial and you keep to your room and he keeps to his office and the rest of the apartment mainly. Except for the majority of the time when he's in your room asking what you're up to. 

He shows a distinct interest in the leftover circuit boards and scrap metal you entertain yourself with. You're not sure if it's because he actually has an interest in those things or if it's because you're his little brother, or his kid even, you think as you notice the vague lines on his forehead. He's honestly old enough to be your father. You don't know how that slipped by you before. You guess you're just used to seeing shopped images from old magazines and you never thought to change your first perceptions. 

You take note of the places his face wrinkles when he smiles. You think to ask how old he is, but you decide to wait until after you finish talking about how exactly you learned to do all this techy stuff, mostly because you like the attention, but you tell yourself that it's because you enjoy talking and nobody but yourself really listened. 

(Offhandedly, you wonder if that's narcissistic or just sad.)

Sometimes you think you'd like more attention from him and other times you feel disgusted with yourself for consolidating his time voluntarily. On worse days, you feel like he's forcing himself to spend his time with you. On better days, you're glad to fill his time with movies and blankets and cocoa.

Sometimes you feel phantom pains in your chest after you wake up and you can't remember your dreams, and sometimes you feel those pains when you're with him under blankets. It reminds you of when you were younger and more innocent and when you had a crush on Jake (which might have only been a few months ago).

Sometimes you feel as if you can feel the blood is suddenly in your skull again, and you feel like you've woken up and you're ready to take on something. 

You feel like you've been decapitated (again). 

You think you're okay with that, as long as you get to wake up. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry you had to read that


End file.
